Torn at the waist, wasted and dazed
alone in the blackness of space
no relaxness for this rapsmith
alone I am average
with my boys, we roam ravenous
attention grabbers we’ve mastered this
nonchalant stance
this lean back dance
this piercing stare
let the women know we are aware
that they are there

wild pack of wolves we are
swear we hard
swear we own stars
and shine illuminous
my rhyme is where the movement is
so I stay glued to them
cuz they are my boys
and I got their back
they watch my front
for anyone coming out the bar trying to front
we don’t break bread, we take brunch
take the left overs, make lunch
but this is just a lame punch

thrown in the air like dust from a clenched fist
misdirected but relentless
everywhere at once
nowhere in force
trying to reveal something real,
something that can’t be owned
much less written
this is just Vision
unedited spitting